Learning How To Smile
by quarrelingPalette
Summary: "They're going to keep you for a few more days to make sure you're okay." Bro pauses and you know there's more. "And then they're "suggesting" that you're admitted to Green Sun." You freeze. They're sending you to Green Sun Psychiatric Hospital? You simply nod, trying your best not to show how nervous you are. **warning, please be careful of triggers** (adopted from: ZombieParade)
1. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1**_

* * *

**= Cool Kid: Have a breakdown.**

Your name is Dave Strider and tonight you find yourself in a pathetic ball of shaking, rocking, noise, your face shoved into a pillow to muffle your agony. You don't know why, your Bro is at a gig, but you still feel the need to be quiet. It's probably force of habit, you reason.

You ask yourself why you can't just be happy, how many times you need to go up and down before you realize that, contrary to popular belief, it doesn't get better. You have no idea how many times the thought do it goes through your head before you finally decide to obey. You think to the box cutter hidden in your nightstand, to the plethora of pills you have laying around your apartment, to the fact that your Bro won't be back until around four in the morning and the two hours alone that gives you.

You act quickly, even though you know you have all the time in the world, and head for the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Your hands are shaking as they go to flick on the lights; you're hyper aware of every noise you make and when the magnet releases on the mirrored door, you jump a little. Your eyes scan dozens of labels from Advil to Vicoden, and you try to recall the effects of each. Settling on what you hope is a deadly combination of Ativan and Zoloft, you flash-step to your room. Both bottles are about halfway empty, but you think they'll do. You sit on your bed and simply stare at the bottles in your hands for a bit. A nod shakes your hair, I'm doing this.

Looking around your room you find a week old water bottle on your desk. You pick it up and use it to throw back small handfuls of pills until both bottles are empty and on your floor. You sob, there's no turning back now and all you can think of is how your brother will react when he finds you dead in your bed, how your friends will feel when they find out. You frantically dig through the drawer in your nightstand and sigh in small relief when you pick up the blade. The weight and feel of it in your hand is strangely comforting, but it's even better against your wrist.

The first slice is tentative and weak. Lately, you're more used to the feeling on your thighs than your arms. It's not good enough; you try again. The second go is considerably more intense as you drag the metal edge across the thin layer of skin that rests over the blue of veins beneath. The third as you letting out a shuddering gasp and a few seconds later, there's a trail of scarlet dripping over the side of your arm and onto the cream colored carpet. You feel so damn woozy and dizzy, so slow and the pain in your arm is distant. While you have drawn a considerable amount of blood, the cuts have already begun to coagulate and you know you'll need to go deeper before you can do anything truly damaging.

You bring the metal to your flesh once more and clench your jaw, pressing down with the blade and quickly pulling it down your arm. Your eyes fly wide open and you openly sob when you look down to see the damage. It's deep, real deep. Some part of you is impressed for a split second before it disturbs you that the thought crossed your mind. Your head is absolutely swimming when your chin falls to rest on your chest. You've obviously never been one against the sight of blood, especially your own, but the amount and frequency of the flow has you a little…you can't grasp the concentration to finish even a simple thought. You can't think at all right now, just stare at your floor as the blood soaks into the carpeting below.

The vague realization comes to mind that you've stopped crying and a wave of what you register as pure exhaustion sweeps over you as you bring your head back up. You decide to lay down. Initially, you hang your arm over the bedside, determined not to get your sheets messy, before you decide fuck it and just try to get comfortable. In your state, it's not a hard thing to do and within minutes, you're dozing off.

* * *

**= Be the guy laying down some sick beats.**

Can do.

You are Dirk Strider and tonight you are absolutely killing it. You are completely in your zone and the people, of course, love it. You are also, however, pretty parched. You go over to your laptop and put on some prerecorded tracks before making your way down to the bar. You sit down and order a beer, receiving it only moments later. Unfortunately, you only get to relax for a few minutes before some asshole walks up behind you and starts getting a little too close.

"Hey, princess." he breathes in your ear and you could smell the booze on him from a mile out. "How's about you come home with me tonight?" You ignore him, your way of being polite, and hope he gets the message.

He doesn't.

"Hey, princess," he tries again, louder. "How's abou-" you cut him off, standing up and turning around.

"Not interested." you make your voice hard, not angry, but factual.

"Aww, c'mon, baby." he reaches around and grabs your ass and, on reflex, your fist meets his jaw. By now people have begun to look over.

"I said I'm not interested." he looks put off but doesn't back down, rubbing at his jaw for a moment before attempting to pin you to the bar. Oh fuck no. You flip him around so that he's bent over the bar with his arms twisted up painfully behind his back. "Listen, you stupid son of a bitch." you stop when you realize your boss is standing right behind you.

"Bro." he says your name with a warning in his voice and you let go of the drunken asshat below you. Thankfully he just grumbles and walks back into the crowd. "Why don't you go home a little early? Cool down and come back tomorrow night, yeah?"

It's not a suggestion and you know that. So with a quick nod, you pack up what little equipment is yours(you like to keep your good tables at home if you can) and leave a mix cd playing before heading to your truck. You start up the car and the bright green numbers of the clock read 2:13. You're pissed that you had to leave so early but at the same time, the fight knocked you off your high and you might not have been able to get back into it.

It takes you 10 minutes to get home and up the stairs. When you get in, you kick off your shoes and dump your gear in the corner. You walk into the bathroom to take a shower and when you see the medicine cabinet open you look inside to see what's missing. You don't see the Ativan and you get a little freaked out and a little pissed. Dave better not be trying to get high off his meds. You see his bedroom light is on and stomp to his room. Ever the adult, you knock on the door and yell.

"Dave?" No response. "Dave!" Is he seriously ignoring you? You open the door with a little more force than necessary and gasp at what you see. You freeze, seeing the blood that is legitimately everywhere. Then you realize it's coming from him. "Holy shit, Dave, what the fuck did you do?!" you hurry over to him and start to panic. He's so fucking pale. You pick him up in your arms and hold him to you. Oh, thank God, he's breathing. You pull up his sheets and wrap them tightly around his arms, gripping so hard your knuckles turn white.

That's when you notice the pill bottles. The little orange containers lay empty on the floor and you feel like you're going to throw up, "Ahh, fuck. Ahh, fuck." you chant and shake him, trying to wake him up. "Please, please, please no." his eyes open slightly and he looks at you very slowly. Your heart stops and you immediately burst into tears, holding his head against your chest and rocking him. Your thoughts race. "Bleeding controlled, overdose, make him vomit.

"Sorry, kiddo." you say, sob, and sit him up before shoving your fingers down his throat. Within seconds, his body lunges and there's vomit everywhere: on the wall, on the floor, and covering half your arm. At this point you couldn't care less as you keep your fingers in his mouth and he continues pumping his stomach naturally. You realize your hands are shaking violently when you reach for your cell phone and dial 911. A lady calmly answers and you give her your situation and address. The ambulance is there 10 minutes later and you insist on riding with him to the hospital. The ride blurs by. They tell you he'll need charcoal and stitches and you nod silently, not really paying attention. You can't hear them over the sound of blood rushing in your ears. The adrenaline is turning sour in your gut as you grab his hand, bringing it to your face. It's do cold and clammy. You grip tighter, praying to a god that you know isn't there that he'll be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

**= Dave: Wake Up.**

What the fuck do you mean "Wake Up"? You're supposed to be dead. Why aren't you dead? You become increasingly aware of how shitty you feel and when you try to sit up, you fail miserably. You hear the busyness in the hall and it occurs to you than you're not at your house. When you open your eyes you're not really surprised to find yourself in a hospital. There's stiffness that over takes your entire body, but especially in your left hand.

You look down and see that you're hooked up to a bunch of shit, needles here, stickers there, wires everywhere. You also notice that your arm wrist is heavily bandages to halfway up your forearm. The sudden impact of your failure hits you like a wave and your eyes prick with frustration, anger, exhaustion. Your hand goes to your thigh and digs the nails in as harshly as you can muster up the strength for. You want to scream. You want to fucking scream and curse and rip off all of your wires and demand an explanation from one of the nurses. But you don't. You sit in your bed and claw at your leg, crying silently to yourself.

You hear movement to your left and you have no idea how you didn't notice Bro before. He's sleeping, his fist bunched under his chin and his elbow on the arm of the chair he sits in. Your stomach drops at the thought of him finding you last night. The guilt turns to an anger (it's his fault your alive) that you can't retain and you let guilt take over once more. He must have sensed your conscious state because his breathing shallows the tiniest bit that lets you know he's awake now, and though he doesn't move at all, you can tell that he's looking straight at you from behind his shades. You realize your shades aren't on your face and it makes you feel more naked than just being dressed in a hospital gown. There's a long stretch of awkward silence before Bro figures out what to say.

"How do you feel?" and you're a little surprised that he didn't ask something like 'what the fuck were you thinking' though you're sure that'll come up soon enough.

"Shitty." you reply honestly. No sense in lying.

"To be expected with a pumped stomach and 21 stitches in your damn arm." he sighs and looks away, obviously haunted by the events of last night. It's so strange to see him so open. It leaves you speechless and you look away as well. The biggest thought on your mind is "now what" and you grow anxious thinking about the possible outcomes. Your thoughts become overwhelming and it's like he's reading your mind because he answers your question.

"They're going to keep you for a few more days to make sure you're okay." Bro pauses and you know there's more. "And then they're "suggesting" that you're admitted to Green Sun." You freeze. They're sending you to Green Sun Psychiatric Hospital? You simply nod, trying your best not to show how nervous you are. You look over and your bro takes off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes for a moment before pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks so tired and you can't help but think it's all your fault. He's so stressed and it's totally your fault. You call yourself worthless, a failure. You can't even succeed at killing yourself, you stupid piece of shit.

"I'm sorry." you barely manage to avoid choking on your words. Your bro looks up at you with a 'hm?'

"I said I'm sorry," you repeat, your voice shaking this time. "I'm so sorry." you sob quietly and bring your legs up to your torso, gripping your head with your hands as you lay your forehead on your knees.

"Hey, c'mon, none of that." he gets up and walks over to you, sitting on the side of your bed and pulling you to his chest. He holds you like you're 5 years old again and you had a bad dream, and you wish so bad that this is what that was. You ball a fist into his shirt and tuck your face in the crook of his neck and you feel so lame but you don't let go.

* * *

The next few days pass uneventfully but they change your bandages daily and the first time you get a good look at your arm, it's pretty gruesome: black and blue and a shit load of stitches. On day three Bro brings you your shades and you feel a lot more comfortable. You're able to take a shower on your fourth day and you're so happy to be clean. Even though some dude had to be in the room with you. Yeah, you're not allowed to be alone at anytime, suicide watch and that shit. It's not horrible though. Your assigned nurse is really cool and plays video games with you. But it is admittedly a little awko-taco for the guy to see you naked.

On your fifth day, let you know that your insurance approved and you'll be transported to Green Sun tomorrow around five p.m. They brief you on what it'll be like, what you're allowed to bring, and what you're not. You're pissed to find you can't have your iPhone. They tell you nothing long or rope like, so you'll bring sandals. If you want sweatpants or sweatshirts, you'll have to cut out the drawl strings. They tell you nothing metal or sharp, so you'll have to wear silicone spacers in your ears to keep your gages open. Which honestly isn't a big deal. They tell you some more obvious things: no drug or gang imagery on clothing, appropriate dress, etcetera." It's all fine and good until she tells you that you won't be able to have your shades on the unit.

"Wait, what?"

"They don't allow tinted eyewear."

"Why the fuck not?" she's visibly flustered by your language but keeps her voice soft.

"They've had problems with them in the past. Since your eyes are sensitive the light you can have them when you go outside, but they won't let them be on your person." there's a subtle finality and when you look over to Bro to back you up he shrugs. You drop the issue with a muttered "fine". She smiles and continues, telling you vaguely about the schedule. She says you'll get a mentor of sorts when you get there to explain things better and you're not too psyched. She leaves and comes back a couple minutes later with some paper work that she hands to your bro before leaving again.

You watch the dumb show that they've put on for you and begin to doze off. You wake up the next day early in the afternoon when Bro sets a duffle bag on your lap.

"Brought you some clothes. Figured it'd be nice to get outta that gown."

You sit up taller and look in the bag. You're pleased to see that he knows how to pack for you and you pull out your short sleeved record shirt and a pair of skinny jeans along with fresh underwear. You stand up carefully and slide your briefs and jeans on under the gown before untying it from the back and sliding it off your shoulders. It takes your guy and an extra nurse to help you unhook from your IV and wires before you're able to slide your shirt over your head. Being in your own clothes is definitely a huge improvement and when you lay back down you feel a lot less like a hospital patient.

You get lunch at one o'clock and after that you watch some horribly ironic romcom with your bro, laughing at horrible plot elements and acting skills. You play it cool in front of him, but inside you grow more and more anxious as the time for transport grows nearer. You finish the movie and play some video games with him for a while. They change your bandages once more before you see a stretcher and two uniformed men entry into the hallway outside your room. One of the men comes into your room with a smile on his face.

"Strider?"

"That's me." you raise your hand and he nods.

"We're your ride. C'mon out and lay down." he gestures to the contraption outside your room and you look to your bro and swallow. He nods and stands up and you follow him into the hallway. It's a little awkward as they go through the protocol of strapping you down. And when you squirm a bit they look down with a smile. "Just think of it as a big seatbelt." you grimace; you're not a kid. But you're sourness goes out the window when your watch nurse comes around the corner to give you some encouraging words and a bro fist.

You get lots of waves and blown kisses from nurses as they wheel you out and lots of 'good luck's from the staff that worked with you. You even get a little awkward hug from some of them. You bro stays at your side the whole time with a hand on your shoulder and your duffle bag over his arm. You give a big sigh, trying to release some of the anxiety built up in your system.

Here we go.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

* * *

The drive there takes about half an hour and feels like an eternity, but it doesn't even compare to the grueling two hours of paper work and interviews it takes before they finally escort you upstairs. At the front desk of the unit they put yet another shiny bracelet on your arm and tell you that you need it on at all times, that if it falls off to ask for a new one. You nod and they turn to talk to your bro. You look around while they talk about such and such. To your left is what looks like a common area and inside boys and girls are scattered, entertaining themselves with activities and conversation. They all seem to be somewhere around your age.

"Dave?" you hear a very warm voice behind you and you turn to face it. Its owner, a tall, dark haired man in a green polo, smiles at you. "Please come with me." you silently follow him into a small room wind he politely asks you to go into the bathroom, strip, pee in a cup, and come back out in the gown he hands you. When he's done searching your clothes, you trade him the cup and go to get dressed. You go through this process with the lightning speed of about 5 minutes. Whoo. He leads you back over to the desk, handing another white coat your pee and gown before taking off his latex gloves. A composition notebook and a stack of papers is presented to you and when Doctor Man talks again, you vaguely notice his English accent. He is now British Doctor Man.

"So here's a journal in case you want to write, and this is your handbook. In here, you'll find a rule list and pretty much anything else you might need to know, but we'll also have your room mate help you orient to the unit a little easier. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask, okay? My name's Jake and I'm a social worker slash psyche tech here, I'm pretty much here every day at most times." He holds out his hand and you shake it firmly. He smiles hugely. "I'll also be leading group therapies and such here and there, so we'll come to know each other pretty well."

He leads you into another room; your bro is sitting in a chair at a desk and nods in your direction. "You can say your goodbyes to your brother and join the ladies and gents in the lounge next door to this room. He'll get to visit almost every day, so don't be too torn up." He looks at you knowingly and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. The room is silent for a good few minutes before your bro stands up and rushes you into an embrace; you reciprocate fully, grabbing his shirt and tucking your face into his shoulder. He pats your back a few times before pulling away to ruffle your hair. It's a gesture that plainly says "I love you." You punch him in the shoulder to respond, "love you too, man."

There's a knock at the door and Jake calls you both out, leading you to the lounge and your brother to the nurses' station. You don't watch him leave; you just go into the room full of mental strangers. You take a seat away from the majority and watch the movie that's playing, ignoring the mumbling at the table across the room.

"Hey, new guy!" you know whoever the hell it is, is talking about you and you look over to see what he wants. He's waving for you to go over to his table and you hesitantly decide to do it. You get up slowly and walk over and the first thing you notice is how absolutely adorable he is: dark hair with big baby blues and a noticeable overbite. When he pulls a chair out for you, you, secondly, notice the scars, fresh and old, adorning his arms and you silently sit down. It's a little awkward seeing as he seems to be the only one at the table who wants you there in his group of three. Well, four, now. You keep a hand on your bangs and try to cover your eyes.

"You're Dave, right?" you nod and he smiles. "Cool! I'm John and I'll be your roommate." He points at the Asian kid sitting across to you with, what you notice on a second glance has one blue eye and one brown. "This is Sol." He gives you a nod. John next points at the grumpy ginger kid sitting across from him, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed and his feet on the table. "And this is Karston." He gives a small, sharp wave and a scowl.

"Yeah, whatever. Nice to meet you, fucktard."

"Just ignore him," John scratches the back of his head, "He's just..." He pauses for a second, looking at you, before his eyes go wide. "Whoa!" Oh, fuck. "Your eyes are awesome! Are you like…albino?" You nod wordlessly and he laughs. Ginger scoffs.

"You mute, too?" God you hate this kid.

"No." You say, barely managing to keep the bite out of your voice. You glare at each other for a moment before John attempts to make a subject change, and you make it a point to seem disinterested in his face as he babbles about some puzzle he's working on. The four of you find yourself in conversation, warming up to each other. Before long, British Doctor Man makes an appearance.

"Alright, guys, it's 9 o'clock!" Everyone groans. "C'mon, kids, line up." The three boys get up from the table and form into a line at the door. As each teen passes, they make a process of pulling up sleeves and pant legs as well as answering questions. You're the last to go and you mimic the actions when you reach the door. You pull up the pant legs of your skinny jeans as high as you can and pull your sleeves up to your shoulders, showing month old scars on your shoulders and upper arms.

"Thank you. And do you have any urges for self harm or have you been having any suicidal or homicidal ideation?"

"Yes, and not really."

"Would you label it as moderate or severe?"

"Moderate."

"Do you have any sharps? I'm sure you don't, I just have to ask."

"No."

"Good." He says with a smile. "We do these checks every morning and evening, just like we just did. So, John is your room mate, correct?"

"I guess."

"Okay. I've asked him to give you some information to help you orient to the unit, the schedule, the rules, and whatnot. He'll answer any question you have about that kind of stuff, but you can also ask us, the staff, anything. Okay?"

"Sure."

"Great, see you tomorrow, young sir." He waves you off and you walk into the hallway to see John standing there waiting for you. He visibly lights up when he sees you. You silently follow him down the hall and into the last room on the left. It's a cozy room with two beds and a personal desk next to each. Your duffle bag sits on the desk closest to the window. The flooring is a soft blue carpet and you're happy to see that the walls are an ugly green instead of a bleak white. You walk over to your bed and sit on it with a sigh.

"So Mr. Brit Doctor Man said you were going to tell me what's what around here." He looks at you, as if shocked to hear your voice.

"Oh, right! Uhm, well I guess, first off, welcome to Green Sun." He giggles and there's a questioning tone to it. "There's drawers under your bed that you can put your clothes in if you don't want to live out of your duffle bag." You look under your legs and there are three drawers built into the bed frame. Sweet, you'll keep that in mind. "Each of the rooms gets a bathroom," He points to a door on the opposite wall from the beds and continues, "We'll have to share but it's better than a locker room or something." Shrug. Nod. "The rules are pretty simple. Don't leave shit laying around, like clothes, books, puzzles, that kind of stuff. Certain stuff isn't allowed in the rooms: food, drinks except for water, and pencils," His voice drops down to a sneaky whisper, "But you can pretty much get around that rule," and goes back to speaking level. "Also sharps, like metals, erasers cause you can burn yourself, or eating utensils.

They don't really get mad if they find something like a pencil, but if they find a plastic knife your ass is toast, trust me. The basic rules are also pretty much common sense." He explains, "Respect staff, shouldn't be too hard most of them are pretty cool, like Mr. Jake. No touching anyone, we get some pretty messed up people and it might set them off. Dress appropriately, self explanatory." You half nod. "That's pretty much the main ones."

"Okay, sure. So what do you do in here?"

"Well honestly, it does get pretty boring. I mean, we have stuff like art therapy and music and stuff, but mostly it's groups, and room time, so it's pretty cool to have a roommate." He smiles directly at you and your heart flutters a bit. Why is he so adorable? He nibbles on his bottom lip, "You'll see what I mean tomorrow I guess. But we should probably head to bed soon, he have to get up at 7 on week days."

You nod, complaining to yourself about what bullshit that is before moving to pull some pajamas out of your bag. You get redressed quickly and your bag goes on the floor as you lay down and pull the covers over you. John switches out the lights and moves into his bed before saying good night. You give a brief hum in answer.

You toss and turn all night long.


End file.
